Heritage
by Delphein
Summary: Story No. 3 in an ongoing saga. "Save the pigeons, Jack, save the pigeons."
1. Not a Sound

Disclaimer: If it's yours, then it's yours. If it's mine, then it's mine. But whether it's yours or mine, if pirates like Jack see it, there's a good chance it will soon belong to them. So watch your back.**

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_As I'm sure any self-respecting _PoTC _fan must be aware,March 7 (the beginning post-date of thisfic)marks the sixteen-months-till date for _Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest. _In celebration, and hopefully to help tide you over, I begin a new story for you. Enjoy._

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_**Heritage**_

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Chapter 1: Not a Sound

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"Well, this isn't the worst place I've ever been. In fact, it's almost nice here."

"Nicer than in Nassau's, anyway," Gwen agreed from the dark shadows off to Jack's right. After a long moment of comfortable silence, she asked, "Have any ideas yet?"

"A few, if ye can find some way to get our swords back, as well as a tree or two, and a few cows."

"I _look_ like a cow," Gwen replied boredly. "Does that help any?"

"No, you don't," Jack answered, dully and automatically. If there's anything he had learned in the past few months, it was that Gwen truly didn't care what his opinion on her pregnant body was. He was just expected to say "No, you don't" every time she disparaged herself, without making any argument out of it.

"I'm not a quartermaster, Jack," Gwen said with a jaded sigh, "so you'll have to think of something else."

Jack yawned. It had already been long past midnight when they had been arrested on charges of smuggling; it seems the law had been tracking them with the help of an informant, probably one of the clients they'd contracted to deliver rum to. The public prosecutor had been awakened when it was realized that the arrested couple were not mere smugglers but Jack Sparrow himself and one of his compatriots. Jack's execution had been set for the day after tomorrow, due to some large wedding or other semi-religious big-to-do in the city that would be taking place the following morning. The public prosecutor hadn't wanted to schedule an execution at the same time, since he wanted to make sure both events were well-attended, so he postponed the execution for a day. Gwen's sentence, of course, would be suspended for now at least, due to her condition.

But after the initial melee of excitement over the arrests had died down, and after the prisoners had finally been locked away into adjacent cells and the extra officers had returned home, the prison grew suddenly very still and very sleepily quiet.

A wise prisoner would take advantage of the dark and the drowsiness of the remaining guards in the night to plot his escape. But cunning, self-sure villains like Jack and Gwen weren't so worried. It seemed natural and even guaranteed that they would find some method of escape at some point, and they weren't worried in the least. So rather than try to keep his eyes open and his brain functioning at this late (or rather, very early) hour, Jack just put their escape on his "to-do" list and yawned again.

"We'll think of something in the morning," he mumbled, trying to find a comfortable position against the cell wall. Judging by the sounds coming from the corner of Gwen's cell nearest his, she was trying to do the same, making little sounds of displeasure and discomfort. Jack almost made a complaint, to point out that at least for her their captors had gone to the trouble of providing a straw pallet to sleep on. But after a moment, Gwen released a heavy breath, and Jack closed his eyes to go to sleep, assuming she was already dozing off as well. He had nearly drifted off when he heard her whispering, more to herself than anything else.

"But it's too early," she was saying.

"I know it's early," Jack grumbled. "So go to sleep."

"Jack!" Gwen hissed.

"What now?" he asked wearily.

"I think it's coming."

"The jailer?"

"The _baby_," Gwen answered fiercely.

A long pause followed. "I thought ye were telling Elizabeth ye still had a few weeks left," was the only response that came to Jack's mind after he finally assimilated what she was saying.

"Well, I can't be certain. But I know it's too soon now for-"

"Then wait," Jack interrupted, as though the solution were an obvious one.

"It's coming _now_, Jack," Gwen said flatly. Then she went on, as though talking to herself again, "I didn't think anything of it earlier; it could have just been the little one kicking. But that last… it's… the pains are starting. It's coming now."

"Not a good idea," Jack said, though he did go to the trouble of shuffling across the floor toward the bars that separated the two cells.

"Yes, thank you, I know that. _You _can tell him that when he arrives."

"Can't ye just-"

"_No_, I can't just-" but Gwen never finished her sentence.

Jack could barely see her in the darkness, but he heard her suck in a sharp breath, and then one of her hands reached spasmodically through the bars and latched onto a handful of Jack's trousers. He made a sound of protest, but when he tried to pry her fingers loose, she instead just gripped his hand even harder than she had his trousers. After a minute or two, though, she gradually loosened her grasp. Jack heard her breathing heavily, the way one might while trying to catch a breath after swallowing cries of pain.

"It's coming fast. This is wrong. It's too soon," Gwen panted in clipped tones. There was a long moment during which she tried to recover her sensibility and think, while Jack scarcely dared to move. "Jack, you're going to have to help me."

"Help?" he repeated dumbly.

"Elizabeth obviously can't be here. You have to stay with me, Jack. Think."

Another long, tense silence followed.

"Jack? What are you doing?"

"What are the chances of Elizabeth showing up?"

"Not very good," Gwen hissed back. Jack hadn't realized that she was still clinging to his hand until her grip began tightening again. His whole arm was aching now, his forearm from her anaconda-like constriction, his bicep and shoulder from being wrenched against the cold metal bars. Best to take his mind off the pain. So he tried thinking of something other than that…

"They must know we're here, by now," he mused aloud.

"Jack Sparrow!"

Jack flinched. Exasperation he was accustomed to hearing from her, but now she was being downright venomous!

"I'll escape, then," he offered graciously, "and go get Elizabeth."

"You leave me here alone like this," Gwen countered, "and I'll give you the ability to sing that bloody song of yours an octave higher than I do."

Jack scowled. He had been afraid she would say something like that. "Ye never say anything like that when we-"

"Jack, can we argue later? I'm a little busy right now."

He stopped short at this. He frowned again. Not argue now? What was wrong with the world? When was it ever a bad time to have a little argument? And besides that, couldn't a man just get some rest? What a night this was!

Jack chewed thoughtfully at a fingernail for a moment as he peered through the gloom toward the front of his cell. With a resigned sigh, he decided he might as well try to do something constructive. Damn any chance of getting sleep now. Then, sliding his other arm out of Gwen's loosened grasp and back through the bars separating them, he clambered to his feet and made his way forward. She didn't call after him as he half-expected she would.

Jack would never admit it to anyone openly, but he had indeed learned a valuable lesson from Will: iron bars were not necessarily as impassable as they seemed. With that thought in mind, he began to examine the structure of his cage. He tried jiggling the bars, experimenting with pulling at them from various angles. Indeed, they weren't as solid as one would expect; they wobbled a bit when he shook them, and the hinges clattered perhaps more than it seemed they should. But how to get free…

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In truth Gwen scarcely noticed Jack's rattling about. She was more concerned with other things. The moment she'd been dreading and which she had pointedly avoided thinking of had finally arrived. She had no firsthand experience with childbirth, and had no real idea of what to expect. And the only two accounts in her mind on the subject were conflicting: Neither her mother nor her baby brother had survived their ordeal, several long years ago. But Elizabeth and her young son were both thriving, happy, and healthy. 

Another fierce jolt of pain and pressure shocked her from her reverie and she was uncomfortably aware that her water had broken. "Jack," she groaned, mostly just for the sake of having some name to blame, rather than because she expected an answer. She braced herself for the duration of the contraction, gulping hasty snatches of air. There seemed to be no end to the pain, and Gwen instinctively pushed, desperate to do whatever was necessary for the pain to come to an end. She was sure she was going to split open from the pressure- and that was just fine with her, so long as it happened quickly.Enough of this prolonged torture.

And suddenly, _finally_, the pain fled away again. Or she thought it did… expected that it _would,_ at least. Instead, she quickly realized, it merely changed in intensity and origin. The pain of contraction temporarily subsided but gave way to the more constant terror of impending childbirth. She fleetingly thought again of how this was happening far faster than she had thought it was supposed to do. It didn't seem right.

This new impression scarcely had time to sink in before yet another shock of pressure snatched at her. Any other thoughts that might have been crashing about in her mind were consumed whole by the instinctive effort to _push_ against the forces that had hold of her.

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Jack squinted as he stared into the thick shadows from where he stood at the now-open entrance to his mate's cell. He could hear Gwen, but he couldn't see her. 

Oh, he could definitely hear her very well indeed. She'd not yet actually cried out (for which he was grateful), but he wouldn't be surprised if a warden came rushing in to investigate at any moment, for all the rasping, groaning sounds she was making.

Jack frowned and stealthily made his way towards her corner. "Gwen," he called softly to alert her to his presence.

But she didn't seem to have heard him. No answer was forthcoming.

"Gwen?"

Still no answer.

Jack didn't want to speak any louder for fear he'd disturb a guard's oblivious slumber, and he preferred his guards to be oblivious and slumbering whenever possible. He shuffled forward another step or two as he opened his mouth to call once again…

…and had to bite back a yelp of surprise as a claw-like hand suddenly seized his leg from the heavy darkness. Her fingers were digging painfully into his calf muscles. He frowned again, nervously, as it began to dawn on him that his light-hearted denials couldn't hold up under the gravity of what was happening.

Suddenly impressed, though he resisted it, with the reality of their situation, he knelt beside her. He reached in the same bending motion to pull her hand from his leg. Gwen's other hand came up to grasp his arm as he clenched her hand in his. Jack was almost sure then that he heard Gwen mouthing his name over a gasped breath. He leaned closer to her and waited for her to speak again. More clearly, she choked out, "You're going to have to-"

Jack moved nervously as her words were swallowed in another stifled groan that sounded painful enough itself, without thinking of what caused her to make such a sound.

"Gwen?" He didn't really expect an answer this time, though. He understood. He shifted, reaching out toward her with his free hand to orient himself. She suddenly released her constricting hold on his arm to allow him to move. Jack realized, grimly, what he was going to have to do. Leaning back for a moment, he quickly shed his coat and vest. He pulled off his shirt as well. Then, uneasily, uncertainly, he guided himself in the dark to a more intimate position, familiar and disturbingly unfamiliar at the same time, keeping a hand on her knee to reassure her. Or perhaps to reassure himself.

The next few minutes were, and would ever remain, a mere smudge to Jack. It was the sort of experience one never wants to repeat.

As he listened helplessly to Gwen's half-muffled groans and swallowed cries of pain, haunting thoughts came to him unbidden. Women _died_ in childbirth. He forced himself to focus on his task, trying to block out the distressing sounds of her agony and trying to decide which deities he should promise favors to. Those long, cold moments steeped intofeverish minutes Jack would never be able to recall. The only memories hewould ever be able to summon of them were of sensations and sounds, since he could scarcely see much more than shadows.

In a single moment his world changed forever. He heard, distractedly, shuffling sounds up the corridor toward the guards' posts. A frightening little creature, his own tiny child, was born and tremblingly wrapped in his shirt. It made not a sound. Feeling the most vulnerable he had ever felt in his entire life, he poked and rubbed the little bundle, trying to find some sign of life in it, scarcely even noticing the quaver in his voice. "Gwen? Gwen, it's… it's not- Gwen?"

She made not a sound.


	2. Silver

**Disclaimer: **Rock-a-bye, Disney, in a tree-top; I'm not making money off this stuff, so please don't call the cops.

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_Chapter 2: Silver_

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There were four guards on duty there that night. The two posted outside had already been taken care of. The other two, luckily, were both dozing lightly in the same room. They were alert enough to spring to their feet and reach for their weapons when suddenly something _clanked_ in the night. But their alacrity didn't do them much good, though, for their attackers were still faster- and that _clank _had been the sound of the shutter on their lamp being snapped closed. Aided by the abrupt darkness and the guards' confusion, it didn't take the usurpers long to have both sentries cuffed, gagged, and bound securely, their hands and feet tied behind them to chairs. 

"The lamp, Will," Elizabeth urged. As soon as her husband had reached and reopened the light source, Elizabeth quickly located the prison keys.

"This way," Gibbs said, motioning down a corridor.

Elizabeth followed close behind, with Will and Tunnel bringing up the rear of their fourfold liberating committee. The four had waited for as short a period as they deemed necessary before going after their captured companions. The _Black Pearl_ was on a schedule with these deliveries, and there was no need to get behind just because of a little trouble with law-abiding types.

So far, everything had been pulled off admirably well. The jail was small, under-populated, and poorly defended. Apparently, the little seaside town wasn't used to having too much excitement in the way of criminal activity. Even Tunnel, a legendary, well-seasoned jailbreak himself, was impressed by the smooth flow of the operation.

Elizabeth was the first one who began to doubt as they neared the end of the corridor. Whether she was simply a bit more observant or could see more in the gloom, or whether she was aided by some mystic feminine intuition, she realized things were not right.

The light from Will's lamp, held high so they could see farther, gradually illuminated the scene ahead. One cell ahead seemed crooked, as though the bars had been put up by an amateur. More interesting than this, though, was the neighboring cell: the door was standing open. And as they approached, it became clear something was dreadfully wrong. There was Jack, all right, with his unmistakable hat and hair. He was crouching, his naked back turned to them, and he didn't acknowledge them at all, though he certainly must have heard them long before now. As soon as Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Gwen beyond Jack's curious figure, she broke into a run.

"Jack?"

The pirate captain didn't answer, but he did look up at her as she skidded to a stop next to him. A smudge of dark kohl was smeared across one side of his face. In his arms he held, awkwardly, a haphazard package, part of which resembled Jack's shirt and part of which resembled-

"Oh my God."

Elizabeth was spurred to action. In the flickering light provided by the lamp jogging with Will down the corridor, Elizabeth cast a quick examining glance over Gwen and with a flick of her wrist, pulled her skirts down past her knees before the men began piling into the cell. Gwen's face was ghastly pale and she was completely drenched with sweat. She didn't appear to be breathing at all- Elizabeth placed the palm of her hand flat on Gwen's sternum.

There it was, though- she was breathing, shallowly. Elizabeth could barely detect a heartbeat, but Gwen was at least showing signs of life, however feeble.

"Gwen," Elizabeth said simply by way of an order as Will, Gibbs, and Tunnel came to a stumbling halt inside the doorway, bumping into each other. Will, being the only one of the men present that had any sort of experience with deliveries at all, looked solemn and grim, his brow pinched together above his nose. Gibbs was wide-eyed and staring at his motionless captain; he'd never seen Jack like this before. He was too startled to look at Gwen just yet. Tunnel, though just a few years older than Gibbs and just as clueless, looked much more composed… but an uncontrollably shaking hand at his side gave away his nerves. Nevertheless, none of the men were fools nor were they strangers to injury or ills. They acted quickly, immediately stooping to check on Gwen and Jack.

Elizabeth took a calming breath, trying to stay in the right frame of mind to help out her friends. She didn't know much about medical affairs, but she had, at least, had a baby herself. Hopefully, instinct and what little experience she had would guide her to make the right choices now. She was distractedly aware of her own heartbeat escalating as though to keep track of the seconds as they flew by, faster and faster.

Heavens! The silent little thing swaddled in Jack's dirty old shirt bore no resemblance to the disgruntled, wailing creature her own son Billy had been when he was first born.

There was no time to lose. There was no way of knowing exactly how long Jack had been there like this before they had found him. He was swaying slightly back and forth in shell-shocked indecision, numbly trying to work out what he could do for one without ignoring the other. Elizabeth made the decision for him, unceremoniously lifting the baby from his arms.

Jack was a ship suddenly unanchored. He sailed straight away to his beloved. Gibbs and Tunnel parted and dodged out of his way as he reached for Gwen.

Elizabeth didn't even spare him a glance. She didn't have the time. Carefully, but quickly, she pried the baby's mouth open, trying to clear it out with her fingers and a cuff of the shirt. Rollingthe childhalfway over in her arms, she tried patting and even gently thumping its back…

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Gwen knew she was standing by the water, somehow, but she couldn't hear it licking the shore, or smell its salty tang, or even see it. She was lost in a silvery nothing, neither dark nor light. But there was simply an ambienttranquillity that couldn't be produced by anything in the world other than a gentle, breeze-kissed sea. It seemed to her as though she'd always been here and would always stay here. In this perfect oceanic bliss. 

Gwen gradually became aware of a presence approaching her. She even thought she heard her name. But she couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything. What was-

Ah, it was Jack.

"Jack," she beckoned him, though she couldn't hear her own voice, couldn't sense her own hand signaling to him. "The sea," she said by way of invitation.

He didn't answer in words. He was grabbing at her arms- she could feel her arms again now. He was pulling her. Where was he taking her? What was going on?

There was pain. Gods, the pain… The pleasant silver gave way to an unknowing, all-consuming blackness.

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Elizabeth let out a stifled cry of released anguish when her friends' child suddenly began a thin mewling. It was a dreadful, pathetic sound, but it was a sound. It was life. 

Only then did Elizabeth become aware of what had happened in the long minutes she'd been bent over the tiny form. Gwen was now breathing more deeply- though they were rattling, uneven breaths still- and already looked less ashen. Jack, however, was now collapsed by her side, unconscious, his chest also heaving erratically. Neither Gibbs nor Tunnel could get any response from either of them.

Will was occupied with a different business. Elizabeth glanced around and found him gathering up Jack's coat and vest, as well as other shed items belonging to Gwen. He was preparing to leave. It took only a few seconds to realize the cause of his rush. Elizabeth realized that now, in addition to the light of the lamp, a grey glow was beginning to seep into the prison. Elizabeth's momentary triumph in reviving the babe was swallowed by new fears. Unfamiliar fears of the revealing light of day and fears of her friends' welfare.

"We can't move them now, Will," she said, eyes wide as she considered the grave risk.

It was Gibbs who answered, though he didn't even look up from Jack. "We're not abou' to leave them here," he said gruffly. It was clear, however, by the sound of his voice, that he wasn't thrilled about the idea of moving them either.

"I didn't mean _leave _them," Elizabeth protested, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the baby's irregular fussing.

"We've got to get back to the _Pearl_," Tunnel insisted. "Back to Serge."

"Serge isn't really even a trained doctor," Elizabeth tried again.

"Serge doesn't want them dead," Tunnel rejoined in defense of his crewmate.

Elizabeth couldn't argue with this logic. Even if the officials _did_ fetch a doctor for Gwen and Jack, they'd hang the pair of them before they could really recover anyway.

"And Serge isn't going to arrest us for trying to help them," Will pointed out, stooping down at Jack's feet. Will lay the coat and other articles across Jack's middle and nodded to Gibbs. The two men hefted Jack without too much trouble. With utmost care Tunnel slowly lifted Gwen, paying no mind to her bloodied skirts. Grudgingly accepting the necessity of returning to the ship as soon as possible, Elizabeth wrapped the baby tighter in its bogus shirt-blanket and fell into line.

This was not how the rescue was supposed to go. They were supposed to go in with four pirates and waltz out merrily with six pirates. Instead, the same four were staggering out, laden with heavy concerns and three vulnerable, powerless figures. Elizabeth watched as Will, just ahead of her, readjusted his hold around Jack's legs, jostling the small pile of possessions riding along on Jack's stomach. A light metallic sound caught Elizabeth's attention.

"Did you drop something?" she asked.

Will and Gibbs both paused momentarily to skim their eyes over the ground in the silvering dawn-light. "I don't see anything," Will answered as they began moving again.

Elizabeth didn't really pay attention to his response. Never mind that. Hugging the baby close to her body to muffle its weak cries as much as she dared, she kept her eyes and ears open as the troop moved as swiftly and silently as possible out of the prison and down toward the harbor. Quickly and quietly. Back to the _Black Pearl_.


	3. A Pirate's Place

_Disclaimer: Some stuff is Disney's; I make no profit. Some stuff belongs to the annals of history; I warp it as necessary to suit my needs. Some stuff is mine; no touchy._

_Additional Disclaimer: I'm not evil. Really, I'm not._

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Chapter 3: A Pirate's Place

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_Jack saw her approaching his prison cell and greeted her with a gilt smile. He came to the front of the cell. She beckoned him, and he lifted the barred door free as easily as if it had been made of air. And then he led her directly, magically, to the_ Black Pearl. 

_Gwen watched as he bent to his task. His hat was off, and his mass of unruly hair was tied haphazardly out of the way at the nape of his neck. Both his coat and vest were absent as well. His shirt sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. As he worked, all of his customary swaying and swaggering made no appearance in the smooth, deliberate strokes of his hand. His other hand held his subject steady and still. _

_Gwen leaned down to peek at the outline he was sketching, careful not to cast a shadow over it and disrupt his light. She watched as he traced a black wing with charcoal. She frowned at the image._

_"Jack."_

_He grunted in response, not even looking up._

_"It doesn't look like yours," she said, confused. The image he'd drawn on her forearm was a curious scene: a hawk-like bird with wings curled upward, clutching a burning torch in its talons. _

_Jack didn't respond to her complaint. He leaned back for a moment, reaching for his tools: a sharp, needle-sized bit of metal set into a small piece of wood as a handle; a bowl with the oil-and-charcoal ink he'd mixed earlier; a few clean scraps of cloth. He glanced up at Gwen, catching her eyes with his as he spoke._

_"S'going to hurt, luv," he warned her, the needle poised over her arm like a scorpion's stinger._

_Gwen closed her eyes and waited..._

_A feather-light touch skimmed over her arm. What-?_

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_Gwen awoke with a little start. Jack was stroking her arm, an odd smile on his lips as he admired her tattoo, exactly identical to one of his own tattoos. 

Gwen blinked a few times, trying to wake up fully and banish the weird feelings left over from her dream. She pulled her wrist lightly out of Jack's grasp so she could stretch her arms over her head.

"Ye were talking in your sleep, luv," Jack said suddenly, grinning at her.

"I do not talk in my sleep!" Gwen insisted, sitting up in bed so she could look down at him.

"Ye did just now," he answered, eyes gleaming.

Gwen frowned. "What did I say?"

"Ye said-" Jack cleared his throat and continued in falsetto- "'Save the pigeons, Jack, save the pigeons!'"

Gwen rolled her eyes and started to climb over him to get out of bed.

Jack snickered. "Actually, ye mumbled something about- Easy on the goods, luv! Watch your knee. Something about 'You got out.' Dreaming?"

"Actually, I was," she said, running her fingers through her hair as she stood beside the bed, still trying to shake the niggling feeling that something was different. "And it was a good one, too."

Jack stretched himself and then linked his hands behind his head. "Was I in it?"

"As a matter of fact, you were. And you were in jail."

He glowered at her. But then he brightened. "I got out, though. Ye said so."

"A small miracle."

He returned to glaring at her again. "What are ye talking about?"

"Simply that; you heard me. You can't escape from anything on your own."

Jack started to answer. Stopped and thought. Frowned. Opened his mouth again. Shut it. Tried again. "What about in the Mediterranean a few months ago?"

"You got lucky that Murphy turned up with such good timing. On your own, you'd've still been with Norrington."

"How about that one time in the colonies? Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You can't honestly tell me you knew about the bear."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Have I told ye about the time that I was stuck on an island and-"

"Yes." There was a knock on the door. "And so has Elizabeth. Told me about both times you were stuck there, in fact."

Jack scowled as Gwen turned toward the door. Heedless of their visitor, Jack swore and said, "Remind me to kill Elizabeth the next time I see her. And you too, wench. I'll lock you both in the bilges."

The door opened in the middle of his speech, before Gwen could answer it.

"Ah, we all made up, I see," Elizabeth said as she came into the room. "I thought I heard voices," she added, sounding much more excited than her simple declaration could account for. Apart from her smiles, though, Elizabeth looked very weary. Her eyes were dark and her shoulders slumped from fatigue. "How are you feeling?" She looked over Gwen appraisingly, but her gaze flicked over to Jack as well.

Gwen swayed as the dreamy fog evaporated from her mind. The dark. The jail. The cells. Jack _did_ escape. The pain. The fear. The-

Gwen turned sharply to face Elizabeth. "The baby?"

Elizabeth smiled soothingly. "Asleep and safe. We didn't know how long you would be out," she explained. "Thought it was best for you and for h- the baby to recover alone. You couldn't care for it, and we didn't want your rest to be disturbed. Not yet." She winked and then glanced between Jack and Gwen one last time. "I'll go get Serge to come check on you." She slipped out the door again before either of them could say anything else.

Gwen looked over to Jack. They had awakened just now, clean and warm and comfortable, safely in their cabin aboard the Black Pearl. But what she remembered now were circumstances very different from these...

"What happened, Jack?"

Jack yawned and slid to his feet. Grimacing when he noticed his coat and vest laid out neatly, obviously having been cleaned, he began rummaging for a spare shirt. The shirt he'd had on didn't seem to have survived its ordeal.

"Jack?" But Gwen followed his lead, dressing herself mechanically.

"They came after us," Jack answered nonchalantly, tucking in his shirt. "They carried ye back to the ship."

"And you?" Gwen dug in Jack's still-open trunk and pulled out an old strip of leather with a tarnished buckle. She belted her loose skirt snugly around her hips.

"I was... there," Jack said glibly. He pulled on his boots.

"You blacked out too. Didn't you? _Didn't you?_ What happened, Jack?"

Jack frowned, unhappy about being forced to admit that he'd passed out. He pointed a finger accusingly at her. "It was _you_ that did it. Like that time before."

Gwen started to answer, but froze. The time before... when they had been anchored at Simantikos, Murphy's island territory. He had found her unconscious below decks, drained after healing the people of Simantikos. The next thing either of them had known was when they awoke that night, refreshed and renewed. But that had just been a freak occurrence... or an odd coincidence of some sort... right?

"How long were we out, Jack?"

"I don't know," he said in a clipped tone, sounding more than a little irritated by this subject. He settled his hat onto his head. He immediately took it off again and brusquely examined it. It, too, had been cleaned. Or somebody had _tried_ to clean it, at least. He huffed and put it back on. Finally, he noticed Gwen watching him. "How do you feel?" he asked lightly, flashing a not-quite-convincing grin.

Gwen gave him a funny look, but she took care to consider his question seriously rather than return a cheeky answer. "Better than it seems I _should_ feel; perfectly fine."

Jack looked her over in silence for a long moment. Then, with an air of a small boy eager to go see a litter of kittens in a barn, he said, "Let's go." He swept her toward the door.

Gwen reflexively checked herself to make sure she was fully dressed before she let Jack usher her out onto the deck. Skirt, check. Shirt, check. Shoes... well, they weren't essential. She automatically tugged her sleeve down to hide her tattoo. Then her hand brushed across her breastbone and up to her throat. _Hmm_. "Jack? Where's my-"

* * *

"It looks like a locket, Captain Webster. That's all we could find." 

"Yes, thank you, I can tell what it _is_,"he said lightly enough. But his eyes took on a new intensity as he turned his attention to the trinket left behind by the escapees.

The guards shifted uneasily. The captain was a relatively serene man, even when angry. It was a worrying, brooding sort of calm, though. He'd only been in Tortola for just a little over a year, yet he was the most feared man in the settlement. If only he'd raise his voice every once in a while, throw his hat across the room, perhaps, he wouldn't be so unnerving.

"Notify the governor of what happened here last night," Captain Webster said absently, holding up the locket as he inspected it. "And prepare the _Panther_."

"Sir?" One soldier spoke the confusion of all of them.

"You've lost a very important prisoner," Webster explained offhandedly. The necklace dangled from his fingers before his face.

"Mr. Sparrow," the most vocal of the guards said, enlightened.

The captain didn't answer. He moved suddenly, rising to his feet. With a sharp motion he shoved the piece of jewelry into his pocket. "Let us hope," he said as he turned to leave, "that they do not get very far before we catch them." An odd, almost pleased smile touched his thin lips. "After all, a pirate's place is in the noose."


	4. Doors

_A/N: Good evening, sports fans… er… fiction fans of fanfiction. Yes, this chapter is vastly overdue. My apologies. A… personal crisis, if you will, precluded me from writing for a while. Right back on track now, though. However, you might want to skim over the previous chapters to refresh your memory. _

* * *

_Chapter 4: Doors_

* * *

Jack merely shrugged away Gwen's query as to the whereabouts of her locket. His attention- and hers as well- shifted immediately to the door. For just as he reached out to open it and lead them out, the door swung in, sending Jack and Gwen both stumbling back a step or two in surprise. In tramped Elizabeth, followed closely by Serge, the acting ship's-surgeon aboard the _Pearl_.

"What yeh doin' up s'soon?" Serge asked in shock as soon as he saw them on their feet before him. Wisely, neither the captain nor his consort fought against Serge as the heavier man forcibly sat them both down on the edge of their bed. The pair were too startled to argue anyway. "Elizabeth," the surgeon went on, "I thought yeh were jokin' 'bout them bein' up. And yeh ought ter know better, Gwen," he rebuked, rounding on her with a wild look in his eye.

Gwen blinked at him. She knew Serge as a gruff but fatherly sort of man who took his doctoring duties quite seriously. Thus, she recognized the harsh look he was giving her- it was the same look he had given her before, when her broken arm and lacerated ankle (on separate occasions) healed much faster than he expected. Serge involved himself intensely in the tending of any patient he was given and their mending was a very personal affair for him. He was pleased when his charges progressed steadily but surely toward regaining health; somber when healing seemed too slow; but perturbed when people got well so quickly that they required little effort on his own part.

Gwen turned to Elizabeth. "How long have we… been _out_?"

Elizabeth hesitated as she tried to recall. Then, adding up the time carefully, she answered, "About… seven hours."

Gwen turned to Jack, horrified. True, she wasn't exactly an expert on childbirth, but she did know better than _that_. She knew enough to realize that she should still be a-bed. And regardless of any other considerations, there was no denying that given how excruciating the pain had been, she shouldn't be feeling so vigorous just seven hours later. She _should _be exhausted, achy, irritable, and defeated. Which was just the opposite of how she actually _did _feel just now.

Jack looked confused. He didn't like the idea of being knocked unconscious for seven hours. (And he was going to have to be careful to make sure no one thought to point that particular detail out.) But that aside, nothing seemed particularly shocking about the situation to him. He stared, fascinated, at the three astonished faces around him. Finally, he gave in and just asked.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Gwen answered, casting significant looks to both Serge and Elizabeth. They understood what she was saying: she _felt_ perfectly fine, even though she _shouldn't_.

Jack frowned. If there really were nothing wrong, they wouldn't all be looking so solemn. He waited. No one offered any explanation. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and was about to say something again, but Elizabeth cut in.

"Gwen, are you sure that-"

"I'm… wonderful."

Serge cleared his throat noisily and peered down at Gwen through squinted eyes. "Yer not jest sayin' that."

It was more of a statement than a question. Gwen didn't respond. There was no reason for her to "jest say" such things. Besides, Serge was used to hearing from his patients that they were fit for duty long before they had healed properly, and he had grown quite clever at being able to detect liars from those who really were recuperated. It was clear enough to him that, despite all odds and all normal expectations, Gwen was good to go.

An awkward silence followed. Even Jack couldn't bring himself to ask for enlightenment again. He waited patiently as the other three occupants of the room exchanged disturbing looks amongst themselves. He picked at the worn knee of his trousers. Looked up at the trio again. Waited a bit longer. Toyed with the most recent line of beads in his hair, the string Gwen had woven in herself after he had tattooed her. He grinned at the memory and slid a sly glance over at Gwen, to share his smile with her. But she was still busily staring at Elizabeth; both women wore the same flabbergasted expression. Jack frowned and rolled his eyes. Finally he gave up on patience.

"What about the, er… baby?"

The other three looked at him as though he'd said something outlandish. But on his face was the same intrigued, eager expression of a small farm boy begging to go out and see a new litter of kittens in the barn. Finally, Elizabeth offered a weak smile.

"Asleep, last I knew, down below so you could rest undisturbed while you recovered," she informed them lightly, her gaze flicking nervously toward Serge. Then, with a wink, she added, "The crew are all anxious for a peek, but we didn't think it was fair they should all beat the parents to gawking." Elizabeth moved to the door as she spoke and beckoned the new parents after her, breaking the spell of the moment and spurring them all into motion.

The four made a pensive party as they went below decks to the room that had been made into a temporary nursery for the littlest Sparrow. Elizabeth and Serge, first and fourth respectively in the line, wore expressions etched with concern for the abnormal quick recovery of the new mother. Gwen followed Elizabeth closely, her own concern for herself replaced with wonder over the curiosity of a baby. The pregnancy, the delivery- the way she felt now (both physically speaking as well as state-of-mind), she could _almost_ believe they were just dreams until she saw the child. Jack, for his part, was distracted by the number of crew members he saw lingering about or pausing in their work to watch them pass. His concern was one of simple discomfort. Partly, he was still wondering how many knew about his blacking out. But he was also distinctly aware that the whole crew, himself included, had only seen their "expecting" as proof that he and Gwen knew how to have fun. And none of them, again, himself included, could see them as parents. He shuddered at the thought.

"Cold feet? Too late now," Will said knowingly as the four joined him in a corridor below-decks.

Jack frowned, caught between his current dread and his previous excited curiosity. Judging by the odd mewling sounds coming from behind the closed door before them, this was it. Will was standing guard to keep out all crew but those who had been on the jailbreak task force.

Will patted Jack's shoulder in a brotherly sort of way as he opened the door for them. It was decidedly pleasant, to a certain extent, he thought, for him to be able to feel more experienced in something than the older pirate.

Jack tried to ignore Will but couldn't hold back a nervous glance shot out in hopes of being reassured. He clutched Gwen's arm compulsively then and led her into the room without looking back.

Inside, Ben was pacing back and forth cradling a small bundle in his arms, a tender expression on his face and a very un-pirate-like attitude in his bearing as he soothed the child into silence. As soon as he noticed the new parents, he came straight over without a word and passed the baby off to a surprised Gwen. At a signal from Elizabeth in the doorway, he then left the family alone for their first quiet moment together, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

The door clicked shut, leaving the couple alone in the room.

"It's _Tom's_ daughter, Caroline. I sail in the morning." Benjamin Webster waited for his wife to make the connections.

"You mean to say," she began, "that… _she_ was one of the smugglers arrested last night? One of the smugglers that escaped? You're going after her?"

"As soon as we heard what happened to the ship my sister Laura sent the girl across on, we assumed that the pirates _had _killed her, did we not?" Ben pointed out. "Is it not logical to suspect now that perhaps she _joined _those pirates instead?"

"_No_, it's not logical! That's preposterous, Ben. I don't like to think my niece would be converted to a common criminal so easily."

"Come now, Caroline. She's always been an outcast, just like her lowlife mother. I imagine she probably fancied all the attention she was getting from those cutthroats. And by the looks of it, she got plenty of attention from them. She delivered a child before she escaped the prison with her consort. Have you heard that yet?"

Mrs. Webster's mouth fell open in scandalized astonishment. "Heavens," she stammered. "How can you be sure this harlot is our Gwendolyn?"

"_Our _Gwendolyn indeed," he scowled. He leaned back in his chair. "Do you remember when we first met Tom's intended? No polish whatsoever. She clearly had no place in our circles with her odd little charms and parlor tricks. What presumption to marry Tom at all! And I recall you discussing her appearance and her plain jewelry at great length after that meeting. Especially her tarnished old locket." He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a silver chain and locket, placing them on the table before his wife. "Apparently, Gwendolyn inherited her mother's half-pence necklace… and dropped it during her escape from our jail. Or is that not the very locket worn by my dear brother's dingy little wife?"

Caroline fingered the necklace thoughtfully, her hands suddenly shaky. "You're not going to kill her, are you, Ben?"

"I don't have to," her husband answered matter-of-factly. "With her bastard born now, there's nothing to keep her from being legally executed for her crimes against the Crown. And once she is, we'll have legitimate proof of her death to take back to the executor of Tom's will in England."

Mrs. Webster scowled at the reminder of England and her brother-in-law's bequeaths and conditions. "He may have been your brother, Ben, but if he weren't already dead, I- I- I think I should like to strangle him myself!" she said, her eyes widening with surprise at her own violent thoughts. "If he hadn't put those terms about his daughter into his will, we could already have our share of the Webster estate."

"No," Ben said darkly. "If we had had her taken care of rather than just stranding her in Port Royal in the first place, the estate would have automatically been awarded to us. We have our own cowardice to blame for letting her live and cast her shadow over our inheritance."

"Don't talk like that!" Caroline gasped anxiously. "We still would have had to have proof that she was dead and couldn't collect her share. Ben… _you're_ not going to kill her, are you?" his wife asked again, her eyes wide.

"No!" he returned angrily, tired of her squeamishness. "I've already told you, I don't _have_ to. But I'm not making the same mistakes again. _We'll watch her hang_," he said fiercely, "and then you and I and the children are returning to England to claim the estate my brother left her." He stood and scooped the locket up off the table. "I'm not coming back to Tortola until I have that presumptuous guttersnipe in chains. We humored Tom when he married that freak Ada, and for his sake we treated that woman well enough. But little Gwendolyn will have to pay for her mother's sins now."

Mrs. Webster, still unsettled by the bloodthirsty behavior of her husband, nonetheless added as he left her, "And her father's as well. Daughters are of no use to a father. He had no reason or right to name her his primary heir."

Ben Webster frowned and waved a hand to show his agreement with that statement as he flung the door open and swept out of the room.

* * *

Gwen and Jack stood frozen, staring at the child. The baby didn't seem to mind being passed about, and scarcely stirred in Gwen's arms.

A delicate calm settled in the room as the new parents stared at the baby in wonder.

The spell didn't last long. It only took Gwen a minute or two to realize she wasn't entirely sure how to hold a baby anyway. And a quick look exchanged between Gwen and Jack then prompted him to unceremoniously disrobe the baby, which caused the little one to make a face and prepare to cry again.

A daughter.

Gwen, suddenly feeling self-consciously responsible for the gender of the child, eyed Jack uneasily. They'd never talked about it, but she assumed that he'd been expecting her to give him a son.

"How about Little Gwen? Or Gwenith?" he grinned as he smoothly scooped the unsuspecting baby out of her mother's arms and began trying to soothe her and wrap her back up in her blanket at the same time. "Or Gwenevere?"

Gwen gaped. Since when was Jack the enthusiastic baby-lover and level-headed thinker? Just moments ago, his nervous discomfort had been so strong it had almost been a tangible aura around him. And now he suddenly seemed to be completely at ease with the entire situation.

Jack turned and began to pace the room back and forth with his tiny daughter cradled close. "Or Gwendolyn?" he went on. "Ye don't use your whole name. That would work."

Gwen shook her head in amazement. "Not after me, Jack," she finally said, still staring at him in disbelief.

"Why not?" he asked as he turned and paced back the way he'd come, his steps much more even and less wobbly than usual. "I like the name Gwen."

Gwen stared at him. She opened her mouth several times to say something, but she couldn't find any words to speak.

Jack seemed to sense her astonishment, for he suddenly paused and turned to face her, though he kept his gaze on the baby as he spoke. "Well, we have to name her, don't we? Ye have any better ideas?"

Before Gwen could answer, however, Jack's brow wrinkled and his lip curled in a perplexed expression as he stared at the child. "'S'got blue eyes," he explained in a low voice. He glanced up at Gwen and then back down at his daughter, who apparently wasn't as interested in watching her father and had closed her eyes again. Jack frowned. "And blond hair," he growled.

Her face still frozen in astonishment at Jack's behavior, Gwen rushed over and examined the child. Jack was right. The pale little creature little resembled either of them at all. She hadn't put much thought into what her child would look like, but she would have at least expected to see darker shades in the eyes and hair.

Jack shrugged and began rocking the child happily again, but Gwen frowned, lost in thought.

"I remember-" she began, then paused, nodding to herself. "I remember Billy looking like that. Grey eyes. When we visited them in Port Royal. Elizabeth said they changed colors after a month or two."

"Ah," Jack said, smiling wider again and turning back to face his daughter with new hope for her. "How about Gwylan?"

"Gwylan?" Gwen blinked.

"It means 'seagull,'" Jack grinned. "Or how about _Cordelia_?" he said with a flourish.

Gwen shook her head, still trying to get past the feeling of absolute amazement she had toward Jack at the moment. Not only was he now cradling a baby when he acted profoundly uncomfortable being anywhere near the Turners' child, he had apparently also put some time into cooking up names. That was a pastime that rightfully belonged to the expecting mother, but it was also a pastime Gwen had completely neglected. She didn't have a single idea. But the fact that Jack _did_ have a few…

"What's gotten into you?" she finally asked.

He shrugged and said offhandedly, "This thing that came out of _you_. Do you like 'Morgan'?"

"Morgan?" she repeated, a sudden insight in his choices occurring to her. She shook her head again in amazement. He'd even thought about _meanings_? "Does that mean anything like-"

"'Sea-dweller,'" Jack confirmed unabashedly. "Or how about Morgayne? '_Bright _sea.'" Jack glanced up at Gwen furtively, then assumed a much looser, more casual posture. Trying to keep an eye on Gwen to judge her reaction to his next suggestion without looking like he was trying to keep an eye on her, he offered, "How 'bout calling her Adriane? Adriane Rose."

Gwen bit her lip, overwhelmed, and tried to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes stung with restrained tears as she looked up at her companion. There was no mistaking that Jack had clearly already made up his mind about this name. But there was also no mistaking the fact that it held connections that were certainly not coincidental. Gwen's mother had borne a similar name: Ada. Then there was Gwen's grandmother Rose. She had been a common whore in the Caribbean who nevertheless learned to read and write and managed to save enough of her earnings to return to England to raise Gwen's mother away from the prostitution.

She and Jack never talked too much about either of their pasts. What was the point in it? But now…

Jack wordlessly placed their daughter into Gwen's arms. After another moment's hesitation, he added, "I figure all together that would make her a 'dark flower of the sea.'" He pointed a finger in the sleeping baby's face and gave her a menacing look. "_Dark_. I'm giving ye two months to get it right, luv."

"Adriane Rose," Gwen repeated, finally finding enough composure to be able to trust her voice.

Jack wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest, peering over her shoulder at the sleeping babe. Soon they would have to show her off to the entire curious population of the _Black Pearl_, and soon she would start crying and send them flying about to try to fix whatever was wrong with her small universe of sleep and food. But for this stolen moment, they were just three Sparrows content to let the rest of the world pass them by.

* * *

_

* * *

Due to the large number of reviews, the **Reviewing of the Reviews **__will be omitted this post, since it would be unjustifiably bulky. However, I'll leave a tip to reviewers: If you want to be sure that I respond to your comments or answer your questions, put an exclamation point and question mark at the bottom of your review, like so!? I'll glance through, see those and be sure to answer. Otherwise, I may or may not respond to unmarked reviews as the whim and my free time/bored time dictate. For immediate response to questions about this series or its past or its future, requests for explanations, requests for PotC rumors and trivia in general, or anything requiring quicker responses than post-to-post, refer to my email address. Keep the cheese, and see you next post._


	5. Helping Hands All Around

_Disclaimer: Yada yada yada._

_A/N: This is a rather short chapter. It's been on my hard-drive for months, waiting to be finished into a normal-length post. I now (finally) post it, as is, to prove that I do intend to continue this story line. Look for more in the relatively near future._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Helping Hands All Around**

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Gwen's world changed radically. 

Gwen faithfully fed and tended to the needs of her newborn, but she was beginning to lose heart in the fairness of the job description. Little Adriane Rose made up her schedule as she went along, putting a definitive end to any routines or habits her mother had once enjoyed or relied upon. If she didn't know better, Gwen would swear that Adriane somehow knew precisely when she was busiest and chose that time to cry for something.

Not that she didn't get help. Off-duty crewmembers were glad to give Gwen a break and tote around the novelty captain's-kid. And this they did often, but it never lasted for very long. One small cry terrified most of the men, and in a matter of seconds, Gwen would be back on-duty as a mother when the men nervously returned the fussing child, apologizing profusely and seeking reassurance that they hadn't broken the little thing. Elizabeth and Will were together a godsend. Both offered time and advice to help the newer parents. At the same time, though, they still had their own infant to watch, a smiley seven-month-old determined to explore the ship from top to bottom on his small hands and knees.

Within days of her birth, Adriane's pale baby fuzz had begun to give way to soft brown hair, and her eyes were gradually getting darker and darker. Jack was positively delighted with the little Sparrow, even more so as she began to look around her world with her father's brown eyes.

After off-loading the last of their contraband rum, Jack had directed the _Pearl_ toward Tortuga for routine restocking. While there, he had spent a great deal of his time barhopping, looking for old friends and acquaintances whom he might possibly convince to come back to the ship and admire his child. As he approached such poor devils with a bright gleam in his eye and his gold teeth twinkling in the firelight, most people merely assumed that he had somehow managed to get even crazier since last they'd seen him. They nodded politely, not really listening to the excited new father, and edged away. Nonetheless, Jack was undaunted. He still held that Adriane was the greatest small thing ever to sail the seven seas.

As Gwen grew more and more weary, Jack grew more and more fascinated. And noticed less and less.

Finally, one day, it broke.

On this particular day, three-and-a-half weeks since Adriane's birth, Gwen had decided she would like to start participating in ship's duties again. The crew, as one, assured her that she didn't have to. But she insisted. Returning to work meant, to her, taking a break from the much harder work of being a mother. And so she could be found in the crow's-nest this morning, her body glad of the opportunity to sit quietly, her eyes perhaps not quite as sharp as if she weren't sleep-deprived, but sharp enough to perform her job. The crow's-nest, many sailors would readily attest, was a wondrous place, separated high above the rest of the bustle of the ship. If one didn't mind the climb, the cramped space, and the dutiful straining examination of the horizon, it afforded a temporary escape from all of one's shipmates. Sometimes, if the watcher weren't purposefully participating in yelled conversations, others would even forget he were there at all.

But that didn't mean they would forget where to find him. Or her, in the case of Gwen.

Jack had been spending time this day with his daughter when the wretched little thing let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she would like lunch. Now. And so Gwen was summoned.

"GWEN!"

She scowled. That was the third cry from below for her. She wouldn't be able to ignore it any more. Damn.

"Aye," she called down in acknowledgement. "I hear you," she added, pulling herself up and stretching one limb at a time, careful not to lose her balance. Duty was calling, and she couldn't deny her daughter. Even if it didn't seem fair to her own needs. Preoccupied with a curious mental image of what it would look like if only fathers could breastfeed as well, she began her descent down to deck-level.

One-quarter of the way down. Gwen wanted to talk to Elizabeth about this, about how she wished Adriane would just learn to take care of herself sometimes. Halfway down. But Elizabeth seemed a pillar of maternal caring and know-how. Gwen felt guilty for being so uncertain herself and was ashamed to bring the subject up to her friend. Two-thirds of the way down the tall mast…

Gwen's foot slipped. She reached quickly to catch herself before she fell, but her weakened grip failed her in her fatigue. Instead, the hard wooden deck reached up for her and caught her with an unsympathetic _thud_ and _crack_.

White-hot pain shot up her leg from the splintered bone and her vision began to tunnel as the edges of the scene around her went blurry and then dark. She heard shouts, dimly, and was aware of people all around, and helping hands reaching out to her, but they grew more and more distant and…

* * *


	6. Two to One

There was a mind-numbing crack that momentarily paralyzed every soul above deck on the ship. All breathing halted as the image seared itself into eyes and memories. Stomaches heaved. The piercing wail of the infant shocked the sailors back into action, and a handful of pirates lurched forward. But just as quickly, they froze again, uncertain what to do with the figure before them and terrified to move her least they break her further.

Yes, she was broken. Her leg had clearly absorbed most of the force from her fall. Her right foot was turned ninety degrees off-center of the knee.

Serge knelt by her side, scarcely aware of Elizabeth joining him. The aging field-trained medic took stock of the crisis calmly and rapidly. Breathing, yes. Gwen's eyes, open wide and staring, the shock of brilliant pain evident but mixed with an unseeing fog that meant she wasn't able to focus on the here and now. Serge crawled around her on his hands and knees, oblivious to shame as he looked for signs of blunt trauma to her head or neck.

Satisfied after his initial inspections that her leg bore the most critical injuries, he sliced her trouser leg up to her thigh with his pocket blade. Immune to the gasps he heard behind him, he sucked on his front teeth as he formulated his professional opinion on the injury and how to treat it. Halfway between knee and ankle, a large and unnatural knot stuck out slightly to one side. It was bone, pushing toward the surface of the skin. A complete fracture, then. He could also see that her ankle was already purpling with internal bleeding from the direct impact it took.

Serge glanced upward into the rigging, estimating roughly how far she fell and shaking his head slightly in amazement. "Lucky, methinks," he diagnosed aloud. He spoke to no one in particular and kept his focus on Gwen, but he knew Jack was hovering nearby somewhere. "That leg's very serious, but only 'a'cuz it took the brunt of it instead a' the rest a' her. Better a snaggled leg than a bruised back. I'd say odds are two to one she'll walk again easy enough."

But privately, Serge was still worried. He really couldn't yet guarantee that the impact hadn't jolted her backbone and paralyzed some part of her- a common enough result of rigging falls. He would need to set the bone back together first and splint it. He would also need to assess her for other damage, but with her eyes rolling backward from the shock and pain, he wouldn't be able to gain her focus until later.

Only then did Serge become aware of his surroundings. Elizabeth had organized the chaos, first assigning Will to see to the squalling baby since he was best-practiced of all the men aboard at handling infants. Then she had assigned a pair of men to bring a wooden board up from below decks and another two or three to bring an assortment of supplies from Serge's office. Serge nodded the supplies into the map-room beneath the bridge and waved to the two closest men to help shift Gwen gently and smoothly onto the board. They carried her into the privacy and quietness of the map-room so he could begin his work.

"She's blacked out, Serge," Tunnel said nervously as they settled her board atop the table.

"Tha's prob'ly f' the best," Serge said grimly as he prepared for the gruesome task of manhandling her severed bone back into its proper alignment and shape.

Outside, Elizabeth was fighting a different battle. "Jack. Jack. Let's go, Jack." When the frozen man didn't respond, Elizabeth tried tugging on his arm, but he locked his body tightly and refused to be dragged. She stopped to peer curiously at his face. He didn't have a shell-shocked, stunned look on his face as she expected. She had come to find him thinking that he would be a lost sheep unable to find its way, like he had looked at the difficult birth of his daughter a few weeks ago.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks. He didn't look worried about Gwen, nor did he look at all lost. His eyes were focused squarely on the closed door where Serge had just taken her. His eyebrows were set in a straight, determined line. He was thoughtlessly clicking his molars against each other. His compass was out in one hand, and he was jittering his loose fingers against the surface in a twitchy drumbeat.

"What..." Elizabeth started, but she wasn't sure what to ask or whether he would even answer. Instead, she turned to the closest two crewmen and motioned for them to help her with the captain. Should they take him to Gwen or not? Would it be beneficial to him to see her or not? Would he be at all useful to Serge or just in the way? Ben had slid a hip-flask out as Elizabeth beckoned him forward, and now he tried to offer it to Jack.

"Not now," Jack growled, pushing the proffered drink away from him. But his odd face softened slightly into what might pass as a look of gratitude toward Ben for being willing to share rum. Just as quickly, though, his face shifted back into an oddly determined mask that revealed nothing of his emotions, and he was striding to the map-room door with Elizabeth hurrying after him.

She nearly ran into him when he stopped several paces short and wheeled to face her. "See to Adriane," he ordered emotionlessly. "Please," he added, though his tone was still clipped and curt.

"Will has her, down below where it's calmer," Elizabeth immediately replied.

Jack only nodded in response, turned and strode to the map-room door, and threw it open.

"Everybody out," Jack said in the same flat and steely tone. When Serge and his two helpers only gaped him, he asked, "Is the bone set?"

Elizabeth stared at Jack, trying to make sense of him. She had seriously misjudged what his response would be to Gwen's injury. She had thought he had been frozen in place due to shock and confusion, and she had thought he really didn't understand what had happened to her. Apparently, she was wrong.

"Aye," Serge was saying. "Not splinted yet, though. We ought'na move 'er again till she's come 'round so's we can check if she can move ever'thin' still."

Jack nodded again in acceptance of this information. "Everybody out," he repeated. When no one yet moved toward the door, he said, "Am I the captain 'ere or am I not?" The touch of venom in his voice now inspired a little motion from the crew-mates, but Serge was not going to turn loose of his patient so easily.

"Jack," Elizabeth began in a conciliatory tone, "she needs to be-"

"Everybody out," Jack interrupted, his pistol leaping into his hand with a startling speed given how measured and low his voice still was. "You can check on the lass when I'm done wi' her, aye?" he added in a somewhat gentler tone toward Serge. He waved them all toward the door, not acknowledging their surprised expressions or arguments. As the group of attendants back out of the map-room into the assembled crew, he raised his voice loud enough for all on deck to hear: "Disturb me and ye're sleeping i' the deep tonight."

He shut the doors on a bewildered crew and barred them. With no one else to witness him now, he lowered his pistol and set it aside before turning to look at Gwen.

She stretched out on a wooden board which had been laid across one end of the long table. She looked like a body lying in state. But no, her breathing was shallow and jerky but still plain to see even from his vantage point near the door.

Sighing heavily, Jack approached her from her left side, purposely veering away the swelling, bruised mess that was her right leg.

"I don't like this, luv," he complained as he stepped in a chair and seated himself cross-legged on the table beside her head, careful not to touch even a strand of her hair. "I don't understand it, either."

* * *

"See to it that our last informant is removed from the payroll. It would seem that this information doesn't check out. The trail is cold. Shift sails back to Tortola."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said, a bit too brightly, as he accepted the small sheet of folded paper with the new bearings the captain had calculated. He was careful to take his leave and turn about with military precision, though. As he walked smartly toward the door and made his escape, though, the lieutenant grinned in relief to himself.

This pirate-hunting missions was damned tedious and unproductive. Worse yet, it meant being trapped on the _Panther_ for weeks at a time with Captain Webster, whose quiet surliness was thickening with every passing day. Nearly a month ago, Webster had tasted the possible glory of executing the famous Jack Sparrow, but the pirate had escaped. Unable to just let it go, Webster had found willing support from Tortola's governor, who also couldn't stomach the thought of being yet another settlement leader unable to bring Sparrow to justice. Consumed with pride for themselves and for Tortola, the captain and governor had hatched an unusual plan, spinning a spider's web of paying for information between Tortola and every island within a four-day sail. This was only their second trip around the circle, checking in with various paid informants, and they'd just made their last stop two days ago.

"Home, we go!" the lieutenant announced gleefully but quietly as he climbed the steps toward the helmsman on the bridge.

The two men shared an expression of profound relief.

"I'm to take that last scrubby barkeep off the pay list, too," the lieutenant said, relaxing against the rail around the edge of the stern deck. He was careful to keep an eye out for underlings he didn't trust, though. It wouldn't do if anyone started getting upset about his old friendship with Ensign McCoy.

"They're all scrubby barkeeps, Jim," the ensign said wearily as he pulled out his compass. "And none of their information will ever check out. I doubt the _Black Pearl_ has ever stopped at a single one of those establishments, hellholes though they are. I'd be willing to make up a good story too if the navy offered to pay me, though. Odds are at least two to one that we'll find them given a year of searching."

Jim nodded agreement, but smiled wryly as he said, "I'll let you share your critique of the plan with Captain Webster, then, aye?"

McCoy rolled his eyes at the jibe. Then he nodded at his compass, lying flat in one hand alongside the slip of paper with new directions in Captain Webster's neat lettering.

The lieutenant stood briskly, crinkling again with the edgy professionalism that he put on and took off so easily. Once again a man of moderate power, he bellowed, "Mind the sheets!" to warn the crew that the course was shifting and that further orders would be forthcoming.

* * *

Jack stared down at Gwen's prone body stretched before him on the table. He was hesitant, but he didn't to delay for too long since he knew that even though she wasn't conscious, she was still in pain. He pointed one finger and slowly moved it toward her. Then, as though checking to see whether a stove were hot, he gently tapped her forehead, instantly jerking his finger away the second skin touched skin.

He expected to black out. That's what had happened on at least two other occasions when he had found and embraced an unconscious Gwen. Instead, with that small tap, a feeling like a bucket of ice-water fell over him. If that weren't enough to unnerve him, Gwen's eyes also sprang open. And then-

"Aggh!" he bellowed. His right leg felt as though it had been run right through with an invisible sword, even though it was still curled whole and uninjured beneath him. The map-room doors rattled loudly in their frames and yelling came from the other side of the door. Mastering his initial reaction, though, Jack bit down on his scream of pain and ignored the demands and questions being yelled through the door by Elizabeth, Serge, and other voices.

"Gwen, don't move," he hissed through gritted teeth. By the look of it, she was still in just as much pain as he was, her shoulders and head curling upward off of the table toward her fractured leg as she tried to cope with the torment.

"What-" she began, but he interrupted.

"Stay focused," he ground out. "Focus on me, luv. Lay back down. Look at me."

Then, gingerly, he tapped her forehead again. Once again, he jerked back as though burned, and once again, an icy dagger ran down his spine and lodged directly in his leg. This time, a silvery fog seemed to come from somewhere within his mind to blur the corners of the room. But he was still conscious. He focused on Gwen's face.

Getting braver, he said, "Give me your hand," and he held out his own hand over her face and across her chest.

Obediently, Gwen reached up.

"Stay focused," Jack said again. "Don't black out."

Gwen concentrated hard on the sparrow tattoo on Jack's wrist, hovering just over her face. Just as nervously as he had, she touched her fingers to his hand.

_Don't black out, don't black out, don't black out, don't black out_...

The silvery haze closed in on Jack, but he focused very hard on Gwen's hand and how it felt in his grip. A cold wind blew past him, but still he focused on her hand.

No, he _was_ the cold wind. He burst through the map-room windows and out across the waves.

No, he wasn't _wind_. The wind was pushing him. He beat his wings and rose higher above the sun-kissed ocean, fleeing the cold blast behind him, seeking the warm thermals high above.

He wasn't wind- he was Gwen. She was Jack. They were flying.

How long he flew he wasn't sure. It could have been moments or hours or days. He felt full of life and strong. He could fly like this forever. He was complete and whole. He had been waiting for this for ages.

* * *

"Course changed, Captain," the lieutenant reported as Webster emerged onto the deck half an hour or so after giving the order.

Captain Webster nodded curtly in acknowledgment. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were literally ripped from his mouth by a cold burst of air. The sails made a deafening sound. One second, they had been full of a calm westerly breeze, and in the next, a frigid easterly gust flapped them backwards. The ship creaked in protest, and a huge swell lifted the ship.

"What the devil-!"

After ten minutes of scrambling, the sails were finally trimmed, some furled. Captain Webster stood aft, seemingly overseeing the efforts to cope with this bewildering turn of events. In actuality, he was scanning the horizon in every direction, looking for signs of foul weather approaching. Oddly, though, the sun remained brilliant and the sky cloudless.

Except for... what was that dark shape in the air zooming toward them?

* * *

Gwen dove, trusting her wings to steady her. What was that, up ahead? A ship? No- yes, yes it was. The shock of cold wind startled her as she neared the ship, but she had enough more than enough effortless strength in her to fly in a smooth circle around the ship through the choppy, frigid air. Her eyes were sharp and she saw the man at the stern watching her as she glided around his ship.

She knew him! She let out a cry of surprise. Why was that man here, on this ship, why?

The shock of seeing him here was quickly overcome, though, as she realized that she was unconquerable. She glanced around the man's ship with her clever eyesight. She was whole and invincible now. This man was no match for her. She could easily defeat his ship, as well.

* * *

"Odd," Captain Webster said to no one in particular. A few other crewmen had noticed the large dark bird as well and were looking up from their tasks. Some kind of hawk or eagle this far out to sea? Eagles were land-birds, and Webster wasn't sure he knew of any nearby islands that had eagles. They were continent birds, weren't they?

The bird let out a cry that sounded somewhat like a challenge.

Had this strange weather blown the bird this far from land?

* * *

Jack sized up the ship after he turned his attention from the man. It was small. Two cannons, a pair fore and another aft. It would be more than a match for the _Black Pearl _in maneuverability, but it didn't have the wingspan in its sails to match the _Pearl_'s speed. Jack stretched his own wings thoughtfully as he completed one more cruising circle, then he beat his way toward the thermal heights again. As he turned tail toward his own ship, he noted that the sun was close to setting.

By the time the _Pearl_ appeared as a speck on the horizon, the sun was just begin to submerge beneath the sea. He tucked his wings and angled his dive directly for the open window at the aft of the ship. As he swooped into the map-room, he thought he heard a startled cry from the deck of the ship.

But his attention was immediately arrested by a different sound, more like a small sob or whimper coming from Gwendolyn.

He suddenly felt his own throat start to close on an expected feeling of utter loneliness and despair as he turned his eyes to Gwen. Her body was sprawled across the table beside his- and somehow that was devastating to him. Just moments before, she had been inside of him... part of him... the same creature as him... And now, here she was separated from him. He was looking at her with his weak eyes rather than feeling and knowing her wholly and completely from within the soul.

A crushing feeling of defeat and sorrow as well as an arousing anger at the unfairness of their separation overwhelmed him. The strength of the emotions was unlike anything he could remember ever feeling before, but he couldn't focus on anything except this moment.

Gwen clung to him, bruising his lips with brutal and frustrated kisses. Obviously, she felt as he did about their being divided suddenly into separate beings, but not being able to feel her thoughts inside his own head about it now only inflamed his rage even more. She was pulling at his clothes, and he was startled to find that he already had an erection. She wasn't gentle as she clawed his trousers off of him. She was impatient, perhaps even desperate, to have him back inside of her, even if only in a small and purely physical way.

He pulled at her clothes, finally managing to slide them halfway down her legs. He impaled her easily, since she was apparently just as aroused as he was. As he began a fierce and pounding rhythm, she writhed and kicked angrily at her own trousers so she could angle her hips up into his and take him in deeper. A chair took a direct blow from one of her kicks and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Finally freed from the garment, she locked her legs around him and ripped off his shirt.

More skin. More touch. More connection. Not enough. Not fair. Not whole. So alone...

Jack pulled out, and she growled at him in the moments as he jumped from table, shoved two more heavy chairs against the wall out of his way, and dragged her to the edge of the table. Pulling her into a sitting position on the edge, he rejoined his body to hers, one arm crushing her against his chest, the other hand between them pinching and rolling her pleasure center roughly, his mouth savagely devouring hers.

His stabs were deep and violent. Anything to feel something together, to try to connect.

"Jack!" Banging on the map-room doors was drowned out by another thud as Gwen kicked aside another chair. "Jack, captain or not, open this door! She needs more medical attention. This has gone on long enough!" Will's voice was completely ignored by the two rutting adults, though. "Jack! You have five minutes. I'm coming back with an axe!"

Gwen was getting close, he could tell. _Take me with you, take me with you_, he was half-aware of praying. He dropped his head to her collarbone, grazing her neck with bared teeth. Then he felt the shuddering and clenching begin as her climax overtook her. The involuntary spasms pushed him over the edge moments behind her.

As the poignancy of climax faded, so too did the anger and the frustration that had driven them. The feeling of soul-crushing loneliness passed, and an anxious silence settled between them.

Jack slid away from her and stepped back, gathering clothes automatically.

"Yer leg," he said, neither statement nor question but somewhere in between.

She dutifully inspected it but found nothing more than the usual: smooth skin over smooth muscle over straight and solid bone. Gwen was amazed, but not surprised. She had gathered from Elizabeth that women bled for weeks after childbirth, but she hadn't bled at all in the past few weeks. Healed, whole. Whatever happened when Jack touched her...

"What the hell just happened?" she said.

"I don't like it, luv," Jack said, not really an answer. "I don't understand. I knew it would work, but I didn't expect... all that."


	7. Recovery

"I knew it would work," Jack said, "but I wasn't expecting... all that." After a pause, he went on, "I was hoping to not black out, though, to see 'ow it happens."

Gwen pulled her trousers back on, flexing her healed leg and rotating her ankle as she did. "That's not the first time we had a shared dream," she pointed out thoughtfully as she scooped her shirt off of a chair and searched for the neck-hole.

Jack was trying to tuck his own shirt into his sash, which had remained tightly wound around his middle throughout their mad scramble. As he tucked his shirt through various gaps in the tied-cloth belt, he successfully achieved a tangled mess, with bubbles of fabric sticking out every direction. "I don' know what ye're talking about, luv," he said distractedly as he started the same tucking process with his trousers, trying to persuade the sash to hold them up again.

"When Adriane was born," Gwen reminded him. She gave her clothes one last tug to smooth them. Then, with a few deft motions, she untied Jack's sash and unwound it. With a businesslike manner, she set about straightening and securing Jack's garments as she went on, "Remember, I dreamed that you came and pulled me out of a fog. Later, you told me that you had dreamed the same thing." She knotted the sash neatly, pulled Jack's hair out from under his shirt collar, and started righting strewn chairs nearby.

"I-" Jack began, but he was interrupted by pounding at the door.

"Jack!" Will sounded exasperated. "You have three seconds and then I start hacking."

Jack gave the door an annoyed look and turned back to Gwen. "I-"

But once again he was interrupted, this time by a flat and heartless _thunk_ sound at the door. This different sound had his full attention. His eyes bulged and his arms flailed as he leapt toward the door, threw aside the bar, and flung it open. "Stop! Stop! Me ship! Me ship!"

Will stood in the doorway with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. There was no axe. He had just given the thick wooden door a firm kick with his hard-soled boot, knowing Jack well enough to know how he would react.

"Not bloody funny," Jack hissed.

"We're not laughing, Jack," Elizabeth said, trying to nudge past the two men and into the map-room with Adriane nestled against her shoulder.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa!" Jack leapt to block Elizabeth's path. He didn't think it wise to put Gwen or himself in the middle of a big show like a rare curiosity to ogle just yet. Thinking quickly, tugging on his beard and chewing on his lower lip, he pointed with his pinky toward three particular nearby people. "You- and you- and you- may come in." Then, he glanced over his shoulder to see that Gwen understood his desire to keep the reactions down. She was calmly sitting in a chair out of direct view of the doorway. Mollified, Jack stepped out of the way to allow Elizabeth, Will, and Serge to pass into the room, and then he closed and barred the door again.

"Ye shoun't ha' moved," Serge began chastising Gwen immediately. "Can ye feel yer foot? Did'ee splint it yet? Why'd ya move?"

But Gwen, seeing Elizabeth's bundle, reached out for Adriane. "How is she?" she asked.

Elizabeth shook her head slightly and nodded toward Serge to indicate that she wasn't going to let Gwen hold her daughter until the medic approved. But she answered the question as she rubbed the baby's back. "She cried a lot from all the hubbub right after you fell, but Will says she calmed right down within fifteen minutes or so and has slept ever since."

"Lessee," Serge said as soon as Elizabeth finished her sentence, motioning at Gwen to let him see her injured leg.

But Jack stepped in front of her and gestured grandly toward chairs across the table from Gwen. "Let's have a talk, shall we?" he suggested in his most charming demeanor, his smile winking gold at them. When no one obeyed his wish right away, he glowered at them and ordered, "Sit down!" His voice dropped an octave lower and he jabbed his fingers roughly at the spot. "But I'll take that. Eh... her." And he smoothly lifted Elizabeth's burden out of her arms before the woman could argue.

Taking the baby had the effect Jack wanted. His attitude made them all think he was having one of his barmy spells, but his holding the baby while acting crazy is what really worried them most. Eager to keep him calm while he held the little one, they edged sideways into seats, careful not to turn their backs on him. Jack was gently petting Adriane's hair and seemed oblivious to the nervous way his three guests were watching him.

"I think we 'ave a little... misunderstanding here," Jack began.

Will, seeming the most impatient of the three of them, bit the bait first. "About what?" he asked.

"You seem to think something happened to Miss Gwendolyn here." Gwen raised her eyebrows at his use of her full first name.

"She broke 'er leg," Serge said.

"We all saw it and so did half the crew," Will added.

"Anyone could see the bone stuck out," Serge continued.

Elizabeth, seeing a step ahead of the men, asked, "What good would it do you to try to pretend she wasn't injured?" Her eyes flicked back and forth between Gwen and Jack, looking for clues in their eyes. But Jack was watching Adriane, and Gwen was watching Jack.

Jack was stuck now. His Plan A had been to convince everyone that nothing happened, starting with this key group of Gwen-watchers. He didn't have a Plan B. Well, it was hard to make plans in the midst of weird and unfamiliar magic! And that flying dream had left him a bit dizzy and unfocused, too.

His hesitation gave Elizabeth a chance to press the attack. She pointed a finger at Jack, and he eyed it with the same distrust as if she were pointing a loaded gun at him. "You're acting strange." Automatically, she put a hand out toward Will to acknowledge that her husband would argue that Jack was always strange. "Stranger than normal. You were planning something as soon she hit the deck. I saw it! You know something."

Before either Jack or Gwen could respond to this, Serge spoke up, "It's healed, innit?" The dead-fish, open-mouthed looks on both of their faces answered his question for him. Serge rubbed his bald head, a deeply thoughtful look coming into his narrowed eyes. "But..." he continued, "I thought ih were _you_-" he pointed at Gwen- "what were witchin' all those times ye healed too fast." Now he pointed accusingly at his captain instead and said with realization, "It's _you_, innit?"

"I think we need to see it, Gwen," Elizabeth said sagely, in light of Serge's words.

Gwen glanced toward Jack, who blustered and made a whooshing noise through his lips. Since he didn't say anything to the contrary or give her an excuse not to, she got to her feet, unceremoniously kicked her leg up onto the table, and pushed aside the knife-sliced halves of her pant leg. Serge stood and leaned forward. Looking to her for permission, he pressed and palpitated, gently at first and then more firmly. Speaking over his shoulder to Will and Elizabeth, he observed clinically, "Firs' bone she broke were an arm, year ago. Healed in two, three weeks, I swear. Tell me tha's not off. But three _hours_ now?"

"We're gettin' better at it," Jack blurted out appreciatively, having never considered this point before. Then again, it had only happened a handful of times, and he had only recently begun to suspect a pattern at all- never mind comparing healing times.

Gwen turned to Jack. "He has a point," she said, sitting down again and taking Adriane from him. "It's you that causes the effect." She seemed slightly in awe of the idea, since she knew that Jack was accustomed to blaming her for unusual happenings aboard the _Black Pearl_. It was somehow relieving and confusing to blame him instead.

Will, mostly silent until now, spoke up. He gestured loosely to include both Jack and Gwen as he said, "So you're suggesting you don't really know what's going on." There was a hint in his tone that said he wasn't sure whether to believe their little act of being inexperienced and uncertain about this odd talent.

"Is there anything else?" Elizabeth asked in a leading way. "Any other... strange happenings?"

Jack had never completely explained the root of all the oddities that had happened since Gwen's arrival on board. Sometimes weather patterns changed unexplainably, his compass seemed smitten with Gwen to this day, and then there had been the whole stuff about the undead Roman legion and Murphy's plagued island. He had never really understood any of it anyway and thought it best not to spread half-guesses about her witchery amongst his crew. Besides, what they didn't know couldn't hurt them, right? He had always just assumed the bizarre events were a Gwen thing, and that mostly she was like a secret good-luck charm here and there. Just now, though, Jack was less inclined than ever to discuss the matter, because he now understood that he was in the middle of the happenings and couldn't blame Gwen alone. He didn't think he liked the idea of being a sorcerer of sorts himself, especially because he didn't know what his abilities might be or how to control them.

Galvanized into action by this realization and his desire to think about it before talking about it, Jack interrupted the interrogation. Plan B began to form. "We're going to keep all this quiet outside this room," he said, gesturing at the five adults gathered. "Just fer now," he added, to assuage the annoyed looks he was getting from others who liked lying less than he did. "Serge, I want ye to splint the leg anyway. Plenty of bandages, no gaps for others to be peeking. Will, Elizabeth, spread one of those crazy Captain Sparrow stories. Ye know- tell the crew I hid treasure in 'er leg and had to cut it out before Serge found it, or somethin' like that."

Then, without even an adieu, he stood, crossed to the room and left, ignoring the "What? Wait!" calls that followed him.

* * *

Like the handful of other crewmen above decks at the moment performing various chores, Gibbs eyed Jack curiously as he climbed casually up to the poop deck.

"I think it's time we paid a visit to our Calusa friends," Jack announced, motioning Gibbs away from the helm so he could change course himself. "Quiet, ye know."

Understanding perfectly the wisdom of visiting the small band of Florida natives while they had the small baby and an injured crewman, the first mate didn't question the decision. Instead, he asked, "'Ow is she?"

"She'll recover," Jack said vaguely, and seemed not to want to talk about it.

Gibbs understood why Jack wouldn't like discussing the frightening fall of his mate, so instead he switched back to the other topic. "Good idea, Florida. Best we lay low for awhile. Too many bad omens about."

"Aye?" Jack asked disinterestedly. Gibbs' omens were sometimes entertaining, but mostly they were just dull.

"Aye," Gibbs said seriously. "That fall for one thing," he said, then mentally cursed himself for mentioning Gwen as his very first bad omen example. Rushing on, he said, "And the weather. Odd winds afoot. Shifty. And the eagle. Saw a black eagle. Ben were up here too and he says not, but I knows what I saw and he does too. Just a few minutes ago. Not a good sign, Cap'n, this far from land."

Jack seemed jolted at the mention of the eagle. His mouth fell open, and he whirled away from the wheel to stare at the other man. Gibbs seemed pleased that his warnings were being taken seriously for once. "What did the eagle do?" Jack asked slowly.

"Came from starboard above, just so-" Gibbs pointed up and to the right- "and swooped down-" he slashed his hand across the air to the rear of the ship- "and disappeared. Ben saw it too," he said again, determined to show it wasn't a hallucination.

"Hmm!" Jack said thoughtfully. Then, gesturing toward the wheel, he indicated that Gibbs should take over again. "Florida, Calusa," he reminded the first mate distractedly. "I'll be in the cabin."

* * *

Elizabeth thanked Cotton for watching her sleeping son Billy during the fiasco, and the bearded mute silently smiled his reply and sidled off. As soon as he was out of sight, Elizabeth shut the door of their room and turned to Will. "What do we know about what they've been up to in the past few months?"

His thoughts in the same vein as hers, Will quickly corrected her, "It would have to go back to over a year ago. Serge said the first odd healing happened that far back."

"You don't think he would go back to the Isla de Muerta, do you?" Elizabeth wondered aloud.

"No, it's not the same symptoms."

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. This was true. That particular Aztec curse had presented itself a bit differently than this current odd scenario. "Well, what's the opposite of cursed treasure, then?" she said in frustration after a long and unproductive moment of thought.

"Blessed treasure?"

"And how do we find out where Jack is hiding it?"

Will frowned pensively. "What do we know about his compass?"

An enlightened expression melted across Elizabeth's face. "You might be right! He never lets that thing go." She fell silent again and thoughtful again. "How do we get our hands on it long enough to investigate it?"

Will held out a hand. "Why do we have to pry? If they managed to find some new kind of magic, bully for them. It's not doing anyone any harm."

"Yet," Elizabeth said darkly. "And I don't know about you, but I don't think Jack is the best judge of what should be tampered with and what shouldn't. Magic is dangerous."

Will knew that when Elizabeth got like this, she wouldn't be swayed. Privately, though, he wondered whether it was really a big deal if Jack stumbled onto some new talisman. The man lived a somewhat risky life on the seas. Surely a bit of a good luck charm could be allowed to him, right?

* * *

Jack found Gwen in their cabin, drying a freshly-bathed Adriane. Not feeling in a mood to hedge, he jumped straight to his most pressing concern. "In the... dream," he began, "the man on the other ship. Ye knew who it was, and ye didn't like to see 'im. Who was it?"

Gwen handed Adriane off to Jack and set about cleaning up the bath things, stumping about awkwardly with her unnecessary leg splint. She didn't look at him as she answered. "I think it was my Uncle Benjamin. He left for Port Royal when I was twelve or so."

"Why would ye dream about him?" Jack asked suggestively, trying to lead Gwen toward the same suspicions he was having.

Gwen shrugged and made no other reply.

"Did 'e look the same as ye remember, or... older?"

"Older, I suppose," Gwen said, stopping finally to look at Jack through narrowed eyes.

"As I recall," Jack drawled, "we had suspicions about how or why 'e suddenly disappeared from Port Royal just about the time ye landed in my custody." This reminder of Jack's original attempts to seek ransom for her drew a quirked eyebrow from Gwen, but she again didn't speak a response so he continued. "Do ye think he knew ye was coming?"

Gwen hesitated. "What are you implying?"

Adriane, who had been dozing comfortably and sinking deeper into the warm cotton towel huddled around her, now opened her eyes and looked at her father with great interest. Jack smiled at the infant as her wandering hand reached for a goatee braid.

"I thought we had talked before about how it looks like 'e left on purpose right before ye arrived."

"We had," Gwen admitted. "I don't know..." Adriane whined a little as a bead at the end of Jack's beard slipped through her weak and unpracticed grasp.

"And about how yer aunt in England was trying to get rid of ye," he went on, none too delicately.

Gwen looked flustered. "Well, yes, but-" Adriane gave a short frustrated cry now, so Jack thrust his chin out so the baby could reach his braids easier.

"Yer family tried to get rid of ye once. Do ye think they would come back to finish the job?"

"Jack, what are you getting at?" Gwen finally strung a full sentence together in exasperation and irritation.

"How much did ye inherit from yer father?" Jack went on. "And who would inherit it if ye were dead?"

"Jack-" she said warningly. Adriane's frustration seemed to be growing as well, her flailing fist twirling Jack's goatee braids in every direction.

"How much, Gwen?"

Gwen had never talked too much about her past. Jack knew enough to know that her mother had died young and that she had had a somewhat strained relationship with her father. He knew enough to know that genteel ladies, as she had once appeared to be, did not convert so easily to the pirating life as she did. He knew enough to know that she had had some sort of family-inflicted damage that made it easier for her to slide into this lifestyle. He knew enough to know that the gown she was wearing on the day they met was expensive. He knew enough to make some interesting conjectures. And now, all his suspicions were revived because, well... that flight dream wasn't just some chance vision.

Jack tried to hand the increasingly fussy baby back to her mother, but Gwen paid him no attention as she began to pace, hands on hips and splinted foot clunking every other step. "Look, Jack," she said with a venomous edge to her voice, "I don't know why we dreamed him, and I don't think it matters. I don't like to think about all that, and it's past. We don't talk about _your_ past. Besides, we've got more relevant things to think about now, and I-"

"Gibbs saw us," Jack cut in, raising his voice a little to be heard over Adriane's crying and Gwen's monologue.

Gwen stopped short and stared at him, not sure how to interpret that statement.

"Flying," Jack went on. "He said he saw a black eagle, sounds like moments before we 'woke up.' He thinks it was an omen. I think... it was us, luv," he finished gently, flashing his gold tooth in an uneasy smile as he delivered his startling news.

Gwen felt like she was wading into the tide at night. A chill rolled up her body in waves, and she swayed as though being pushed by breaking surf. Jack stayed silent, letting his theory settle over her and allowing her a chance to think about it. Knowing Gwen wouldn't permit him to touch her just now, he instead rubbed Adriane's back soothingly. It seemed to help the baby, anyway.

Gwen's eyes half-closed as she remembered the sensations of soaring. It had been a vivid dream. Very... realistic. Lacking that general drowsy fog and the sense of the unreal that usually went with dreams. She had actually felt the effort of beating her wings, had felt _in control_ of the dream rather than it just being something happening around her or to her...

Jack quietly kissed the top of the now-quiet baby's head and settled back to wait for Gwen to find words to convey her thoughts to him. How long he sat reclined, with his daughter cuddled on his chest, he wasn't sure. Probably just a few minutes at most, but still, he started to doze, perhaps exhausted from his mysterious activities of the evening.

He was startled awake by Adriane's sudden cries. "That means that..." Gwen was saying, "what we saw was real."

Trying to shake off his drowsiness, Jack nodded. "Aye," he said, trying to soothe Adriane again. "Your uncle is out there. I don't think it's wise to stay in these waters now. We're on our way to Florida until we figure out what's going on and what our next move is."

Gwen didn't answer for a long, tense moment. "That's probably best," she said slowly, at last.

Jack barely heard her, though. He was looking at his daughter with a strange intensity, perplexed by the infant's curious but oddly fitting mood changes. But he said nothing to Gwen, who wouldn't have heard him anyway, possessed as she was with her own thoughts.

* * *

Hobbling on her pretend-splint, Gwen emerged from the cabin, Jack's compass in hand. He was sleeping fitfully, Adriane also asleep on her father's chest, fidgeting just as much as he was. Gwen shut the door quietly behind her.

Twilight had just finally faded from the sky, leaving the sea and the _Pearl_ awash in the mystical light of a gibbous moon. Few crewmen remained above deck-only those taking the handful of critical first-watch shifts. Gibbs was still on the poop deck, and he greeted Gwen with his best attempt to mix sympathy for her injury and happiness at seeing her up and about.

"Thanks, Gibbs," Gwen said with an awkward smile. Then, she nodded toward the wheel. "Change of plans, apparently," she said, displaying Jack's compass as proof that she was delivering the captain's orders.

Knowing that Jack kept his compass close to him always, Gibbs didn't question the authenticity of Gwen's information. If Jack had given her the compass, then the order was legit. But as he adjusted course obediently, he was still brave enough to question the order, particularly since it was Gwen delivering the order and not Jack himself. "I thought the plan was to lay low."

Gwen shrugged. "You know Jack," she said vaguely.

Gibbs sighed. "Aye, plays his cards close," he said understandingly. But privately, he reconsidered his own response. Actually, if he were honest, Jack had been much better over the past couple of years about trusting his crew and sharing a bit more information. Gwen had been a big help in that. Why would Jack change course now without explaining?

* * *

_Gwen watched as he bent to his task. His hat was off, and his mass of unruly hair was tied haphazardly out of the way at the nape of his neck. Both his coat and vest were absent as well. His shirt sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. As he worked, all of his customary swaying and swaggering made no appearance in the smooth, deliberate strokes of his hand. His other hand held his subject steady and still._

_Gwen leaned down to peek at the outline he was sketching, careful not to cast a shadow over it and disrupt his light. She watched as he traced a black wing with charcoal. She frowned at the image._

_"Jack."_

_He grunted in response, not even looking up._

_"It doesn't look like yours," she said, confused. The image he'd drawn on her forearm was a curious scene: a hawk-like bird with wings curled upward, clutching a burning torch in its talons._

Gwen awoke suddenly, blinking away the creepy sensation of having had that dream before. She looked down at the sparrow tattoo on her arm to reassure herself that it _was_ just a dream. After yesterday, it seemed more difficult to tell the difference between dreams and reality. But no, there was no black eagle on her forearm. Instead, it was the same small bird Jack had claimed her with months ago.

As she once again admired the tattoo that bonded her to this man, she felt a twinge of guilt as she glanced over at Jack. She didn't like the idea of going behind his back when he had made it clear he didn't want to confront her uncle, but she wanted-no, she _needed_ to take this opportunity while she had it.

Soft blue predawn light was sneaking through the window. Soon, the deck of the ship would be practically swarming with sailors, and that would make it a lot more difficult to check and reaffirm their course. The more sailors that saw her delivering Jack's orders for him, the more likely someone would say something to Jack about how he shouldn't be sending an apparently-injured Gwen hobbling around at his whim.

So, sliding the compass from beneath his pillow, she once again crept from the room, hoping to sneak back to nurse Adriane before the baby woke Jack.

* * *

When Jack awoke, it was much later in the day than he usually slept, he could tell. The sunlight was much brighter and the air much warmer, indicating the hour was creeping toward noon. A quick glance around the cabin revealed that Adriane was asleep snug in her basket but Gwen was nowhere to be seen.

As he crawled out of bed, pausing often to stretch muscles and pop joints, he recalled how he had felt more tired on the occasion or two before when Gwen had been mysteriously healed. It made sense, he figured, for him to feel drained somehow after such an event. It was okay to sleep in every now and then anyway, so no big deal.

As he tugged on his boots, his thoughts bounced around between all the subjects he had available for pondering today. There was Gwen and how she didn't want to talk about her family past. There was Gwen and the healing. There was his part in the healing. There was the eagle flight... He lingered on that one for a long while, because it was the most interesting and confusing topic by far.

Then there was Adriane. He turned his attention to his daughter.

* * *

Gwen quickly grew tired of the attention and concern from her shipmates over the course of the day. Even more awkward than others' sympathy, though, waere the long, serious looks Serge sent her way every time he saw her. So she spent most of the day hidden away below decks, sewing an old pillowcase into something for Adriane to wear. Elizabeth went looking for her once or twice, but Gwen managed to hear her coming and slip away undetected. Even so, Gwen knew she couldn't hide forever.

She had left Adriane well-fed and sleeping in the cabin with Jack, but she knew him well enough to know that Jack didn't feel confident being in charge of the infant alone. Neither did she, but there was no explaining that to Jack.

Yet the interruption never came. Finally, in the early afternoon, she left her hiding place to look for her daughter.

"Right on time!" Jack said, sounding relieved, when she found him playing cards with off-duty sailors in the mess hall-something he rarely did. To top off that rarity, though, he was playing one-handed with his daughter cuddled in the crook of the other arm. "She's hungry." He passed the infant to her mother and turned back to his hand.

Much to her surprise, though, Jack came hunting Gwen down less than half an hour later to take back the baby. "What are you doing?" Gwen asked flatly at this, knowing he must be up to something.

"I like watching her watch me play," he said lightly, as though this were obvious.

"She mostly sleeps while you play," Gwen contradicted knowledgeably, having played cards with the infant in a basket beside her several times in the past few weeks.

"Mostly," Jack agreed cryptically. And then he was gone with her.

Gwen decided to leave well enough alone and not question his sudden interest in fathering. Instead, she sank back a few levels deeper into the ship and resumed her solitary pondering and sewing gratefully.

* * *

Will was taking a shift on the poop deck in the early evening when several small rocks fell one after another- _thunk! thunk! thunk!-_ onto the main deck from above. Cotton was in the crow's nest, and this was his way of gaining the attention of those below.

All eyes on deck squinted up at the man to see which way he pointed and then off to the horizon to see the tiny dot of a ship.

"Find Jack," Will ordered promptly. As someone went below to alert the captain to this development, Will watched the other vessel carefully. It too had spotted them, apparently, and it was seemed to him that it was changing course slightly. The ship had been angled off toward their port side, but now seemed to be coming around toward an intercept path. This wasn't good.

Gibbs appeared above deck just ahead of Jack, who held Adriane against his shoulder with both hands. Gibbs waved for a crewman to bring him a telescope to get a closer look at the ship.

"It's changed to an intercept course," Will apprised Jack as soon as he was within earshot. "Run up the Jolly, Jack."

Jack shot Will a fierce look. "What's in yer head?" he growled at the younger man, jerking his head at his infant daughter.

"My son's aboard too," Will pointed out curtly. "The Roger might make them turn away."

Jack's temper cooled somewhat as he realized that Will was experiencing the same protective instincts he felt, and he stared off toward the ship as he considered the possibility that Will's idea might work.

"Not bloody likely," Gibbs said, lowering his looking glass. "I recognize her. She's from Tortola's fleet."

"Tortola?" Jack repeatedly flatly. He started rubbing Adriane's back soothingly, even though she hadn't started fussing yet. But he knew she would.

"They know who we are, and they'll be loading their 'nines already," Gibbs said.

Tortola was the port that had most recently caught Jack. Tortola's was the jail where Adriane had been born. As if on cue, Adriane started whimpering. Jack passed her to Gibbs, trading her for the looking glass.

A chilly gust of wind blew at their backs, but the three men barely noticed it.

"Change course," Will urged as Jack adjusted the focus.

"There's not time," Jack replied. "They're too-" But he fell suddenly silent as he peered through the small telescope at the approaching ship. It looked oddly familiar from afar, but through the magnifying lenses the details he now saw were causing him to grind his teeth. His face stony with fury, he put lowered the looking glass and started barking orders into the increasing wind.

"Get her below," he began, but Gibbs was already ahead of him on that count, handing the now-squalling Adriane off to a young crewman and pointing toward the stairs. "You- get a sheet and paint, now!" Another crewman ran off to follow those unusual orders without question. Then Jack launched into a series of barked instructions to slow their forward momentum, which was difficult because the wind was blowing them stronger and faster toward this other ship. "Will," he commanded after this, pointing to the wheel. Will took control, and Jack, looking so furious that no one dared stop him or question him, headed below deck at a run.

* * *

"It's her, Captain."

Captain Webster didn't need a looking glass, nor did he need his lieutenant's announcement. Even though it was little more than a speck at this point, he could see enough of it already. There was no other ship that was quite so dark with quite so many sails. Of course it was the _Black Pearl_.

"They say she's fast," Lieutenant Kirk couldn't help blurting out. "Nigh uncatchable."

Unfazed, the captain of the _Panther_ immediately responded, "We have her in maneuverability. All hands on deck, save artillery to their stations."

The captain was not the sort to bellow orders himself. Bellowing was beneath his dignity. Instead, he delivered his orders calmly to the lieutenant, who instantly set about repeating and yelling out more specific orders to the crew.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find her. Jack knew where he would hide himself if he didn't want to be bothered, and sure enough, he found her toward the stern one level above the bilge. He threw the door of the storeroom open. "You deliberately disobeyed me!" he growled through clenched teeth, talking before he eyes had even landed on her in the corner. The ship was tipping more side to side by the moment, and the door began to squeak shut again as the ship leaned. Jack spitefully kicked the door back to full-open.

Gwen didn't have to ask what he meant. She had known that Jack would work out her deceit rather easily as soon as they approached her Uncle Webster's ship. "He's going to hunt us down if we don't solve the problem now ourselves," she argued defensively.

"Solve the problem?" Jack repeated angrily, pulling her by the wrist out into the corridors of the ship. "Our _daughter_ is on board, Gwen. Yer uncle may have tried to kill ye before, and ye're heading straight for him now with Adriane aboard. I told ye we were going to hide out and make a plan. A better plan than _this_."

"Let me go, Jack," Gwen said venomously, her ire quickly rising to match his. "Don't preach at me about Adriane. I'm the one trying to protect her while you cower away."

"No," Jack hissed. "Ye're the one trying to get her killed while _I_ am trying to protect her."

The _Pearl_ reeled suddenly as a tall wave picked her up, and Gwen took advantage of the misbalanced moment to twist free of Jack. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and without a second thought slapped him open-handed at the back of his jaw.

Jack didn't even flinch at this abuse. He was ready for the emotional attack. He deftly caught both her hands, twisted her around as though they were dancing, and pinned her back against his chest through brute strength. "This storm," he snarled, "is our fault. Or Adriane's. I'm not sure anymore." Gwen stopped struggling, stunned at this seemingly unrelated and startling commentary from him. Jack didn't give her time to process it before he went on, walking her ahead of him back through the corridors as they went. "Either way, I need ye above deck and on my side. If ye're not on my side, the storm is going to crash us right into yer uncle's ship out of our control and nobody's clever plan will work- not mine, and not yours, either."

He didn't speak anymore as he frogmarched her upward through the ship, until just before they emerged above decks into the ordered chaos of storm and sailors yelling requests at each other. "Don't forget to limp," he said firmly but quietly, pointing at her false splint. In an even more secretive voice, his mouth next to her ear, he insisted, "Stop the storm."

Gwen didn't find it difficult to pretend to limp. The ship was pitching to and fro in as though dancing a tarantella. Its antics were following a sort of majestic accelerando, getting faster in a steady but noticeable way from one minute to the next. Her feet automatically stumbled beneath her as she tried to keep herself upright.

Stop the storm? That order was both ridiculous and impossible. Wasn't it? Besides the possibility of controlling a storm sounding a bit out of her own expertise, wasn't he the one with all the bizarre power after all? Even if she did believe she could calm a storm- which she didn't- she didn't have a single calm thought in her mind. Her anger at Jack and her rising blood-thirst as she set eyes on her uncle's vessel had her thoughts roiling more tumultuously than the sea by far.

Jack saw that his orders had all been followed in the five minutes he was below. The lad had brought the sheet and paint, and he quickly set to work. "Stand on those corners, hold it down!" he yelled as glanced toward the other ship. It was well within a league, now.

* * *

"Sir, look."

Webster didn't need the lieutenant's matter-of-fact heads-up, though. He saw the flag rising upward through the _Pearl_'s sails himself. "What does it say?" he asked as he squinted. All the _Panther_'s crew were straining their eyes as well, trying to make out the lettering on the wildly billowing sheet.

"Sir," Lieutenant Kirk said in an enlightened tone. "Their artillery is stowed. They're not preparing to fight."

Webster didn't understand the relevance of that observation until a few moments later, when he too finally managed to make out the two-word banner: _CHILDREN ABOARD_. He glanced quickly along the flanks of the distant _Black Pearl_ and along the deck and saw that what his subordinate said was true. There were no cannons to be seen anywhere.

"It's a bluff, a deceit," he said dismissively.

"Sir," the lieutenant said again, in yet a third tone. This time he was trying to convey something much more complex through that simple syllable, though. The whole crew of the _Panther _knew enough already to suspect that there could be a newborn aboard the other vessel. The disturbing but unmistakeable signs left behind in Tortola's jail by Jack Sparrow's consort made for a fascinating story, and naturally every sailor knew about how the piratess had given birth and still managed to escape with Sparrow. And the knowledge of that birth combined with the pirates' flag there meant that Webster would risk a mutiny if he pressed his offense too far. Many of the officers had children themselves. In spite of the villainy of the parents and whether it was for the greater good or not, no naval crewman would be able to stomach endangering children.

"Captain?" Lieutenant Kirk asked again when a long moment had passed with still no orders given. Kirk was holding a rail now to maintain his balance on the steadily climbing waves. "Perhaps with the storm, sir-" he began logically.

"They'll be watching for an answer," Webster interrupted. He made no acknowledgement of the rapidly deteriorating conditions of the wind and weather, even as a cloud finally slipped across the sun. Bracing himself carefully, the captain let go of the rail he too had been holding. He drew both of his hip-holstered weapons and held them up over his head, clearly displaying them toward the _Pearl_, which was now no further than a third of a league away. Then, just as deliberately, he replaced his pistol at his side and waved just his sword above his head.

"Sir?"

"All pistols, cannons, and guns are to be stowed immediately," the captain explained. "No shot of any kind is to be fired. But I refuse to leave my men unarmed."

* * *

"Well, Cap'n?"

Jack lowered the looking glass. "He acknowledged our message and promises not to shoot, but he's not going to stand down. Still willing to use blades and trust us to keep children below."

"Tha's not what I hoped they'd say," Gibbs yelled into a gust of wind as he fought to keep the wheel of the _Pearl _steady.

"Me either," Jack replied loudly to be heard over the growing noise.

"Surrender. Plain white flag," Will suggested painfully. He knew Jack would have a hard time swallowing the idea even if it was the only way to absolutely guarantee the children remained unharmed.

"We may have more important things to worry about, Cap'n," Gibbs yelled. He was losing his fight to keep the _Pearl_ on a stable course.

Jack gritted his teeth and automatically scanned the deck until he saw her- there, by the mainmast. "Gwen!" he bellowed. To Gibbs, he said, "Do what ye have to do for safety first." Then he headed down the stairs to the main deck.

* * *

Neither Captain Webster nor Kirk nor McCoy nor any other _Panther_ crewman would later be quite able to describe exactly when or how things went wrong. The entire approach of the _Pearl _seem ill-fated.

Almost as soon as the _Black Pearl _had been identified on the horizon, a sour wind had started to blow. The closer the ships came together, the more the sea pitched and whirled. Finally, in what seemed like an unimaginably painful decision for him to make, the captain released the crew from trying to steer toward the _Pearl_ so that they could instead focus on steering safely through the storm. The _Panther_ was being thrown by the sea, waves twisting her around and washing over her...

* * *

"It's better this way, Jack," Gwen said in a low voice so it wouldn't carry to anyone else on deck.

Neither Jack nor Gwen would later be able to explain how they had arrived at this unbelievable battle of wills. Jack had gone to reproach Gwen for inciting the storm further with her anger. This accusation had made her even more angry, which had resulted in a thunderclap a sudden darkening as the clouds thickened overhead. Naturally, it was hard to argue the point after that.

"We have to control it," Jack insisted quietly. He grabbed her arm, instinctively knowing that the task would become easier. They both felt it- the thrilling sensation of _knowing_ that the very wind and sea must submit to their will. But Gwen disobeyed Jack again, _willing_ the storm to grow. Jack pushed back, _willing_ the _Pearl_ to stop bucking and mentally pushing the _Panther_ away. Neither of them dared let go of the other's arm, though, each fearing the inevitable drop in energy if they should do so. Jack felt sure he was merely piggybacking on _her_ magical powers and would lose all control without contact with her. Meanwhile, she felt somewhat similarly about him.

Jack watched the _Panther_ tossing wildly over the crest of another wave that seemed to mystically dissolve to half-strength by the time the same wave rolled beneath the _Pearl._ "Ye can't jest kill them all," he snarled directly into her ear.

"Not all, just him," Gwen whispered back ferociously.

"Ye're not that good at this yet," Jack answered, as another suddenly-calmed wave tipped the _Pearl_ gently.

"Maybe lightning-" Gwen suggested, and thunder answered her immediately. The strike had been far in the distance, though, completely off target. Gwen shrugged slightly, and another wave rose above the _Panther_.

Will pointed at Jack on the main deck, still arm-locked with Gwen, her other wrapped as far as it would go around the mainmast. "What's he doing?" Will asked Gibbs.

"Dunno," Gibbs said, his face dripping with sweat from the effort and stress of anticipating waves.

Will glanced around at other crewmen. All were still busily engaged with keeping the _Pearl_'s sails in whole pieces and watching the _Panther_ for signs of aggression when they had a free second. Nobody was applying more than the most casual and brief of glances toward the peculiar scene happening square in the center of the main deck.

Will took another moment to size up the situation and realized that the naval ship was taking a much more severe beating than the _Pearl_ was getting at the hands of the storm. As he watched, a sudden wave rolled completely over the deck of the smaller naval ship, and Will saw a man wash out with it.

"Man overboard!" Will automatically yelled, without even thinking, and he began to run down and toward the foredeck of the ship to see what could be done for the man. "Theirs!"

Simultaneously, Jack wrenched out of Gwen's grip and met Will at the rail at the stem of the _Pearl_. "Doesn't anyone in the whole damn navy know how to swim?" Jack yelled indignantly, his eyes sweeping the other ship for signs of rescue efforts.

"There he is," Will pointed into the water. The naval sailor was closer to the _Pearl_ by far as another wave bore the _Panther_ another swell farther away.

A minute passed, and Jack still didn't see the other ship sending out rescue. "Bloody hell," he finally said. "At least we'll have a hostage." He turned to Will and pointed a finger at him as he commanded, "Ye fish me back out, lad, hear?"

* * *

Jack's swan dive drew the attention of several aboard the _Panther._ This was partly because it was a big and beautiful and long dive, and partly because strangely, the winds had suddenly fizzled from a 9.5 on a ten-point scale down to a 7. So they were a tiny bit less distracted by their own position in the storm.

Jack didn't particularly notice the slightly-calmed winds, nor anything happening aboard the _Panther._ He was rather busy with the simple task of breast-stroking toward the dog-paddling sailor fifty or sixty more yards away. If he had noticed any of those other things, he might have realized that his attempts to interfere with the storm had probably made things worse by feeding her power. He might have taken a moment to chastise himself for attempting to use abilities he didn't understand at all. He might have noticed that the _Panther_ was drifting closer and the _Pearl _further away suddenly. In spite of all, the _Panther_ was superior to the _Pearl_ in maneuverability, even in the midst of angry winds and waves.

But he didn't notice any of this until it was too late. With the gratefully spluttering sailor supported in one arm, Jack luckily caught the rescue rope with his other arm the first time it was thrown. Trying to sling his water-soaked dreads and braids out of his face so he could see whilst simultaneously clinging to his rescued charge was nearly impossible.

So he didn't get a right look at the ship until he was standing on its deck. Its brown deck.


End file.
